


Need No Words

by merkuria



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Breathplay, D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merkuria/pseuds/merkuria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock finds a way to make Jim forget about bad things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need No Words

They didn’t talk about it, not once since that first time after the Klingon incident, when Jim found himself pushed against a wall in his quarters, pressed in and breathless, while Spock kissed him, wet human kisses all over his face. It took Jim’s mind long seconds to move from _what_ to _this is really happening_, and by then his pants were down round his knees, effectively trapping him and giving Spock wide access.

He didn’t fight it, letting Spock grab his hips and squeeze hard. The pain should have cleared his mind, but it didn’t. If anything, it only added a shocking, unexpected layer to the pleasure blooming low in his stomach, as Spock’s warm hand held his cock in a tight grip, moving up and down, steady and on the wrong side of rough.

Jim tried to focus on his body – on any of the points that Spock was touching with his free hand – but it was useless, all the aches coming together in one wave that somehow mixed with the pleasure, leaving him weak. It had only been minutes, but he was so close now, _so close_, and Spock wouldn’t stop kissing him, stealing all of his air and filling his lungs with fire.

And it shouldn’t be so good. None of it should have him sprinting for the finish line but there he was, one hand scrabbling at the wall behind him, the other gripping Spock’s uniform, his body barely fighting the assault. It was surrender, as complete and instinctual, as it was unexpected.

When he tore his mouth away to get some air, it was done. He managed just one deep breath before Spock’s hand squeezed, taking Jim’s orgasm from him like everything else just now, silently and without asking.  

Jim stood there, willing his body to obey him again, and tried to come up with something he should say. But it was several seconds before he could speak, and by that time Spock was already out the door.

*

The way to deal with the fact that your first officer held you down and fucked you, quite without asking, yet to your great satisfaction, Jim found, was by pretending it had never happened.

*

Three weeks later, it happened again.

Jim was tired. No, scratch that, he was exhausted and aching after the fiasco down on the planet, followed by the three hours he spent in sickbay making sure everyone was ok. They would be – bruised, scared and shaken, but alive, every single one of them. He sighed as he opened the door to his quarters, mind set firmly on a drink, shower and bed, preferably in that order. Even if his hopes of actually getting any sleep were slim at best.

What he didn’t expect was Spock standing inside, waiting for him in the darkness. The surprise made him gasp and he cursed involuntarily, the sound far less dignified than he would have liked. Right then.

“Mr. Spock” he started, and stopped, because for once he had no idea what to say. “How did you -” and was cut off before he had a chance to finish, as warm but firm hand closed around his mouth. It was clear that Spock did not want conversation; instead he took advantage of Jim’s confusion to grab him by the front of the soiled uniform and walk back until his head hit the wall.

They were very close now, almost touching, the crisp, impeccable lines of Spock’s uniform a stark contrast to Jim’s. He closed the little distance still left between them and leaned in, radiating warmth along Jim’s left cheek. _He’s going to kiss me_, a thought raced through Jim’s mind, electrifying, but Spock only got nearer, pushing him into the wall, and then stopped.

For a while nothing happened. Jim stood still, catching short breaths and waiting for something, _anything_. Finally, when – unable to bear the tension anymore – he moved to touch Spock, he got a reaction.

“No”, spoken quietly into Jim’s ear, sending a thrill down his spine. Spock moved his hand from Jim’s mouth and rested it next to his head, forearm flat on the wall, and did the same with the other, crowding Jim in the small space. “_No_”, repeated when Jim grabbed a piece of his uniform, quite without thinking. This time Spock made sure he was obeyed, catching Jim’s wrists and pinning them flat against the wall.

It was an odd position, with Spock as good as lying on top of him – except for how they were technically standing – and any other time Jim would remark on it, but now he was too busy pumping blood to feed his racing heart, too concentrated on breathing, for there was not enough oxygen in the air, surely, the way his head was spinning, the way his skin flushed hot.

It was only after a while, when the buzzing in his ear subsided a little, that Jim realized Spock was not, in fact, standing still. There were the little movements against Jim’s ear, not quite nuzzling, and Spock’s thumbs travelling up and down along where he held Jim’s wrists, as delicate as his grip was hard. Too intimate, all of it, and Jim tensed, hands folding into fists before he could control himself.

It seemed to snap Spock out of the moment and spur him to action. Gone were the barely there touches of just a minute ago, replaced with rough efficiency as Jim found himself released, Spock stepping back a fraction, only to be pinned back again, one hand more than enough to do the job.

There was a short moment, no more than the space of two breaths, when Spock just stood there looking Jim in the eyes, and Jim wanted to think he saw something in his face, something he caught once with the corner of his eye, he was sure. But then Spock was sliding down, the hand placed on Jim’s chest sliding in a slow and heavy line, until Spock was on his knees. He used his other hand to drag Jim’s pants lower, tearing the abused fabric, and leaned in to take Jim into his mouth.

Jim bucked, hips snapping forward before he could think any better, and the flash of pain as Spock grabbed his right thigh in a vice-like grip was almost welcome, grounding. He couldn’t move. Had it been anyone else, Jim could have easily broken free, but there really was something to say for Vulcan strength. _It will leave bruises_, he thought absentmindedly, his whole body attuned to the five spots on his right leg, shooting bright pain from where Spock’s fingers dug into him.

And then even that thought was gone, as Spock took him in his mouth.

He didn’t want to fight it. Oh God, he didn’t want to fight any of it at all, because the wet heat enveloped him and pleasure rolled through him with brute force, blanking out everything that’s happened that day.

It was a giddy rush as Jim looked down to see Spock’s eyes trained on him, unblinking, and he opened his mouth to say something. There was a _please _at the end of his tongue, chased by another, and another one, and they were all going to spill from him, because Spock kept swallowing him down, never stopping, and his nose was buried in Jim’s stomach – and how was that even fucking possible outside of a porn holo –  the entire thing spiraling out of control.

All he managed though was a choked _Spock_ before the hand on his stomach pressed harder, pushing the air out of him. His head was spinning again and he tried to breathe, desperately, but after every little exhale Spock pushed harder and harder still, until it felt like there wasn’t a breath of air left in his body.

He could feel the pain as a sharp line in his chest, the warring sensations splitting him in two, growing in a crescendo that threatened to tear him apart. Any moment now he would collapse, letting the pain and the diamond-sharp pleasure take over his body as it did his mind, and everything would stop. If he could only take one little breath –

But just as Jim’s vision started to blur and his body went pliant, surrendering to what was being done to him, Spock slid his hand away from his stomach, resting it on Jim’s hip and holding him in place.

If possible, the burst of air into his lungs hurt even more than the burn of seconds ago, and Jim was gasping, choking on the oxygen that raced through his body. Through all of this he never moved his hands, and as he opened his eyes he looked down to see them pushing the wall in, muscles straining and abused.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered because Spock was kneeling before him, eyes wide-open and shining, swallowing, forever swallowing as if he truly didn’t need oxygen; the unbridled pleasure finally pushing Jim over the edge that the pain brought him to.

In the end, destruction wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him.

 *

There were no more surprises after that, as the pattern of bloody incidents followed by sharp pleasure became oddly familiar. Soon Jim could tell unerringly when to expect Spock in his quarters, pushing him, holding him down and taking everything like it was his.

He couldn’t help the anticipation.

*

On that particular occasion there was a bomb, two injured ensigns, and a minor damage to the engineering deck. Come evening Jim was waiting.

Spock came through the door wearing his usual expression of effortless efficiency, back straight and hands clasped behind him. _There’s not a crack in him_, Jim thought, _not a single way for me to get in_.

The door closed prompting a minute change in Spock’s posture, a shift that sent a ripple across the room to where Jim stood. Spock let out a single breath, the exhale rounding his shoulders, and moved in, reaching for Jim and pushing him down on the bed. The moment his body touched the mattress Jim felt himself uncoil, as if a safety pin that was holding him together gave under the pressure, allowing every thread to unfold, freely.

It wasn’t long before Spock’s hands put a stop to the thoughts racing through Jim’s mind, erasing them with methodical precision. With a hard roll of hips he spread Jim’s legs, splaying him across the bed, careless angle and the stretch too wide for comfort, painful and _perfect_. One of his hands went for Jim’s free wrist – the one that wasn’t hopelessly tangled in the sheets – holding it down and digging in the flesh. His other hand crawled up to Jim’s neck, leaving behind a trail of rough touch, and if Jim could, he would lean into it, he would arch, chasing the bruising caress.

As it was, he could only look up to meet Spock’s eyes, black and unchanging, seemingly unmoved by the exquisite pleasure that threatened to take Jim under. Spock kept Jim in place with practiced ease, hard movements canceling any attempts at breaking free, his whole body bearing down, powerful and in control. A stray thought entered Jim’s mind - _I’ve seen him kill with these hands – _and then was gone, because it didn’t matter when Spock’s eyes were on him, always on him, and never looking away. Not when Jim tried to push up and was held down, not when he tried to rise for a kiss and was denied, not even when he finally went still, breathing hard with his mouth open.

It could begin now.

And if Spock’s grip was too firm, the sharp pain from Jim’s wrist radiating up his arm to meet the ache traveling down from where Spock’s other hand was curled round his neck, if Jim went a little more slack with every breath Spock allowed him to take – for there was no doubt between them that every breath Jim drew was a _gift_ – well, they didn’t talk about it too.


End file.
